


No Longer a Pain in the Goddamn Ass

by Cruisingforabruising



Category: RWBY
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Developing Relationship, First Dates, Fix-It of Sorts, M/M, Middle aged men go on a date and are super awkward about it, Roman is now less villain more weird uncle
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-14
Updated: 2021-03-14
Packaged: 2021-03-22 08:55:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,345
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30036198
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cruisingforabruising/pseuds/Cruisingforabruising
Summary: Roman asked James on a date.He asked him on a date, and by some utter gods-given miracle, he accepted.
Relationships: James Ironwood/Roman Torchwick
Comments: 3
Kudos: 9





	No Longer a Pain in the Goddamn Ass

**Author's Note:**

> SO, I'm back at it with this old chestnut huh. In all honesty, this started with an RP between one of my friends and I, and it ended with me continuing it via a fic. Anyway, enjoy these two idiots trying to navigate a date, and if you're wondering... yes. The title is a direct callback to a prior Ironwick fic. It's not a sequel, however.
> 
> I wrote this fic mostly for me and I wrote it primarily whilst half-asleep. It's completely self-indulgent, and does not follow any iteration of canon. But, I'm guessing you're here not to adhere to canon, but to read about these two losers. 
> 
> Enjoy!

So, it wasn’t as if Roman was terribly anxious. Hell, the man wasn’t sure he was capable of that truly palpable level of anxiety, but there was something; not a pang of regret, nor fear, but trepidation. He’d asked James out on a date, and by some gods-given miracle, he’d actually accepted, having agreed to rendezvous in the evening. This had at least given Roman time to return to his hotel room in Atlas, shivering the whole way back, only to try on no fewer than three different outfits, all of them prefaced with black trousers.

The first? His classic coat look, but upon squinting at the mirror, he realised the error of his ways; he was far too conspicuous, and far was it from his own interests to be perceived whilst out on unofficial business.

In all honesty, he wasn’t sure why he still had that jacket. Sentimental value, he supposed, but his days of crime were long behind him. Forced retirement along with diplomatic immunity, one might say. Back into his suitcase it went.

The second outfit consisted of a salmon pink button-down shirt, and the same pair of black suit trousers, grey cravat around his neck, to which it elicited a response of “fuck no”. It was a little too overt, even for him. Without the cravat, it could almost be called agreeable, ‘til he remembered the exact climate he was in. Once again, back into the suitcase.

The third and final outfit was the simplest of the lot; a black roll-neck jumper, cable-knit, black jeans, and a pair of fleece-lined leather gloves. Surely if he wore a jacket atop that, he’d be safe from the biting chill, and as he took one more cursory glance in the mirror, he agreed that he looked “frankly, fucking smoking”. Not too casual, fairly warm, delightfully simplistic–if he didn’t get an approving hum from James, he’d be silently mortified. And so, tapping out a text, he awaited the General. 

_‘Hey, James. I’m ready whenever you are, so just… pick me up from where I told you, I guess. Or we can walk? It’s like, five minutes away.’_

_‘That sounds agreeable, Torchwick. We’ll reconvene in a few minutes.’_

_‘James. It’s Roman. Call me Roman. And who the fuck uses the word ‘reconvene’ anymore anyway?’_

No responses came after that until a simple ‘I’m here’, which had Roman’s eyes darting up from the screen, and those same inquiring eyes scanned the area, before catching sight of a slowly-waving James. Little wonder he’d not recognised him, with a high-collared work shirt in dark grey, a pair of trousers not dissimilar to the ones Roman had tried on prior–either way, it was a far cry from the typical clinic Atlesian Military uniform he tended to wear. 

A sharp inhale; fuck, James cut a fine silhouette. Tall, built, he just about caught himself before his gaze began to drift downwards, from his face, to his chest, his waist–was it trim, or was his clothing just tailored? Probably both, Roman thought.

**“Torchwick,”** James began.

_**“–Roman,”**_ Roman instantly retorted.

**“Right–yes. Roman. It’s… good to see you.”** There were the beginnings of a smile on James’ face, but that was seldom enough for Torchwick, so he pressed on.

**“The café’s just a lil’ ways away from here, I think you’ll… you’ll like it, James. And it’s good to see you too–hah, never thought it’d be like this.”**

And thus, they wandered idly through the near-freezing Atlas streets, Roman spared no glances for the familiar buildings around him, especially not the building for ‘Brunswick Legal’, instead opting to stare up at James’ face. He was fairly sure the other man could navigate these city streets without Roman having to pay heed to the roads, which gave him ample time to give himself the beginnings of a trapped nerve in his neck. A note to himself, he needed to invest in some two-inch heels or–something–anything to compensate slightly for the height discrepancy of near enough eight inches.

But gods, those eyes. He couldn’t tear himself away from them, nor the crow’s feet around Jim’s eyes. Maybe he needed contacts, or glasses, or maybe the chill pierced through him in much the same manner it did with Roman. Unfortunately, the very notion of asking him whether he needed to warm up felt a tad too forward, and before they knew it (after one or two wrong turns), they arrived at their quarry. If they’d been stared at, Roman was blissfully unaware of such, though the people of Atlas were generally so busy (and self-absorbed) that they tended not to notice their surroundings, oblivious only until the situation concerned them. 

Ah, the price of complacency.

The bakery was quaint, quiet, having avoided the various rushes of the day, the interior was cosy, and even during the late hour of seven o’ clock in the evening, the aroma of freshly-baked bread still wafted throughout, with coffee beans still being roasted, ground, and Roman took a deep breath, warmth and familiar scents filling his lungs. It took him peering over, but he noted that James followed the exact same routine; he appeared tired, with those bags under his eyes, and the burgeoning beard, yet the healing properties of caffeine never went ignored.

**“Hey, so.”**

**“Hmm?”**

**“You strike me as a ‘coffee black as your soul’ kinda guy, am I right on that one?”** Roman inquired; there was an eyebrow raised in questioning, but how on Remnant could one ascertain whether it was the same for the other brow? 

**“… I suppose you are.”** Came his response, followed by a wry chuckle from the General; a deep, rumbling sort of thing from the back of his throat, with the sort of late-day gravelly quality capable of making Roman’s heart sing. Unfortunately, since that wasn’t necessarily possible, the tips of his ears instead tinged with heat, and the redhead was fairly fucking glad that his hair covered them. Mostly.

Basically? Fuck, his laugh was nice. He wanted more of it, but not before James spoke again.

**“And you, Roman, are the type of man to completely tarnish the taste of his coffee with creamer and sugar, I presume?”**

Roman wrinkled his nose and stuck out his tongue, an apt response which more than likely gave the cashier the impression they were interrupting something–which they almost definitely were, but they were also doing their job, and thus, after taking orders (and a hefty tip; Roman wanted to look at changed a man as possible), the two sat in plush chairs opposite each other. Upon their coffee’s timely arrival, Roman truly had gone the route of far too much sugar (James couldn’t fathom how Roman had any teeth left, the mere thought of that much sugar made his jaw ache), whilst his coffee was black, so black. He’d asked for their strongest blend and by the looks of things, they’d delivered in spades. Notably, Roman also had himself a small slice of cake, adorned with strawberries and filled with buttercream icing; he brought his fork to it almost daintily.

Wait, daintily? James took a moment to think that one over–he’d never have used that word to describe Roman, but upon further inspection (he wasn’t much for thievery, but he could steal a few glances here and there), he truly was rather a small man.

He was so caught up in staring at the redhead’s smile, his freckles, gaze turning downwards towards his lithe hands, that he scarce registered that he was, in fact, being spoken to.

**“Hey, James. Your coffee–how is it?”**

Roman squinted.

_**“Jaaaames.”** _

Torchwick was half-tempted to jab his side with a finger, stricken with the notion that they were two very conspicuous people having a not-so-conspicuous cup of coffee, and although Roman was a relative unknown, James… wasn’t, thus the idea of attracting a scandal was duly deemed ‘unattractive’. He is, however, relieved of the notion of prodding James by the other man by finally being perceived. 

James nodded, having not actually taken a sip of his coffee yet, mouthing a quiet ‘I suppose we’ll just have to find out’.

Ah.

He found the coffee strong, strong enough to knock him on his ass and back, strong enough that he felt like he could manage a whole 8 hours longer of work on this cup alone, yet the strength was balanced out by the aroma, rich and almost akin to dark chocolate. Now, James wasn’t a sweets guy–not by any stretch of the imagination, but the bitterness of dark chocolate hardly lent itself to that category, and–wow. With renewed vigour and slightly more open eyes, the cup was once again lifted, another sip was taken, and he veritably hummed in approval.

**“Well, Roman. Your taste may be atrocious,” James gestured at Roman’s mug, so inundated with sugar that he may as well have selected another drink, “But. It seems as though you’re rather good at selecting for others. Now, tell me, have you always been such a people-pleaser?”**

This made Roman blink a couple of times in abject surprise, and there was a vague attempt to discern some form of concealed meaning. For all intents and purposes, the other man’s audacity was matched only by his commanding presence, and though he felt compelled to answer immediately, Roman’s guard wasn’t… entirely down. Yet. Still, he responded before James was awarded the chance to press further.

**“If you gotta know–which I guess you do. No, I haven’t been.”** Was followed with an unspoken ‘you’re a special case’, something Roman daren’t announce so readily.

**“But! When you spend six months being interviewed by the same man, who takes his coffee the same way each and every day–you get to know what he likes.”**

James stiffened, stared down at his cup, and brushed a stray strand of hair from his face, whilst Roman grinned that sly grin, and James could scarce believe he’d been so transparent.

**“I… hm. The coffee on that airship… it’s vile, I’d not recommend it. Not compared to this.”**

**“I remember, Jim. Their attempt at ‘tea’ was about as bad as the coffee.”**

Another chuckle, and Roman damn-near considered himself a professional at making the General laugh by this point, for what could he love more than watching the man unwind. His little quirks, such as how his hand would rest on his hair, or how he’d frequently space out whilst immersed in what Roman guessed was good coffee. 

The atmosphere was easy, pleasant, even as customers filed into the store, fetching their to-go coffee as some prepared for night shift, and others merely popped in for the enjoyment of it. A gentle mix of… lo-fi, Roman thought it was called(?) permeated through the café. Steam rose from their mugs, and Roman’s empty plate lay abandoned, napkin placed, folded over the fork.

**“You know, Roman. I never thought a date could be so relaxing.”**

**“Huh. I always got the impression that if a date wasn’t relaxing, it wasn’t supposed to be a date at all, but–thanks?”**

**“I’ve been sent on dates in my life, usually with people I was told would make good political connections–”**

**“–So assholes, then?”** Roman once again raised his brow. His question was genuine, as though he felt he’d dodged a bullet by being estranged from such a young age.

**“–Yes. It was forever about money with them, how I could forward my up-and-coming political career, and there were perhaps two people I clicked with throughout that entire sordid phase. Ultimately, work held priority over the lot.”**

**“And I’m gonna assume that this was before you ended up on the field?”**

**“You’re not wrong.”**

A soft ‘hmm’ fell from Roman’s pursed lips, the rusted cogs in his head opted to just about grind another question out.

**“So, how many since then?”**

**“One or two, nothing special. They didn’t get second dates.”**

**“And will I?”**

With that, James steepled his fingers, knitting his brow as though he were deep in thought where in all actuality, it was more likely that he’d spaced out again. Still, Roman doesn’t pry.

**“I think so, Roman. I think so.”**

That was enough to satisfy Roman, and as he raised his mug to his lips and found it woefully empty, he noted that James had done much the same. How long had they been sitting and chatting? He cast his gaze towards the outdoors, the gentle pitter-patter of raindrops upon neon-lit streets left puddles in their wake, and the streets reflected their light back at themselves, casting the area in an otherworldly violet. 

**“Don’t suppose you brought an umbrella, Jim?”**

**“Ah, no.”**

**“Drat. It never used to rain so sporadically in Vale.”**

**“And you were mostly underground?”**

Roman’s neck turned near-quickly enough to give himself whiplash. He wanted to cackle, wanted to burst into unconfinable, unfettered laughter, though he settled instead for staring, slightly aghast. 

**“James. I. Y’know that being part of the ‘underbelly’ doesn’t mean I was literally underground for– _James_. Don’t tell me you’ve gone your whole career thinkin’ that.”**

**“Oh. Oh no. I’ve made a fool of myself, haven’t I?”**

**“No, no! It’s a common enough misconception!”** It wasn’t. Along with the reassurance, however, James seemed to once again recline into his seat; he turned to gaze out of the window, and Roman stared in awe at how his eyes appeared ever-bluer among the muted lighting. They were drawing out the inevitable, the moment they’d have to leave, and even as the two of them put their jackets back on, they did it slowly, with occasional eye contact.

**“You’ll walk me up to my room, right, James?”**

**“Alright, but no further.”**

**“Spoilsport.”**

**“Don’t deny that you like the thrill of a chase, Roman. I’ve seen your exploits enough to know that.”**

It was Roman’s turn to laugh, and as they extended their thanks to the barista, Roman felt a hand slide onto his, fingers entwined awkwardly, gloves and all, and their breath collectively hitched.

_Oh._


End file.
